Monday, November 16, 2015

A Portrait of a Cat that Once Lived

2012 to 15 November 2015

(this post is dedicated to my CAT DIARY readers on Facebook. If you're not one of em, feel free to follow me at fb/nsyahidakamarudin.)

Thank you guys for your kind words about Mugabe's passing. Some people might say, "Oh, it's just a cat. Grow up!", but of course, people who say that doesn't have cats/pets, so they don't understand the bond.

Some asked me why I decided not to euthanise Mugabe when he was suffering. That's because I didn't want him to die at an unfamiliar place, a place that he hated so much when he was alive. And although a lot of articles about euthanasia mentioned that cats do not have human emotion and would not understand anything except pleasure and pain (and thus dying at any place won't matter to them), seeing him breathing his last fresh air under the tree with squirrels running around and birds chirping was a picture that I would be happy to remember him by. I am not against people who decided to euthanise their cats, because any choice you have to make for your pet is hard and people do it in the best of intention. Nobody wants to hurt their loved ones. But this was a decision that I made because it felt right. In the end of the day, YOU know your cat. Not the vet, and not other people.

And after a week of force feeding, peeing on the bed pad, needing people to clean him with wipes, spending time watching videos of birds on YouTube, being carried everywhere he needed to go, I think he is all okay now, in his own castle in kitty paradise, boasting around other kitty souls about how he was the prince of darkness in his previous life. That darn cat might be bitching about me being an asshole owner, for all I know.

Of all the cats that I had before, I am more at peace with how Mugabe went. He caught six musk shrews the week before his condition went worse, and he decided to sleep on my bed for the two days before he died. He chose the tree when he knew his time was coming, and he passed away a few seconds before the rain started to pour. He didn't live long, but I am glad he lived a full life. He was the king of the neighbourhood outside, but was an obedient pet at home.

He had always been a sick cat, and I suspected that he had always carried the virus with him since day one (before the vets even knew about it), because he never seemed to be able to get well as quickly as the others. A lot of cats carry coronavirus, but only a percent of them get FIP, and sadly, he was the one percent. Only one percent of an FIP-infected cat survived, and sadly, he wasn't one of them.

Am I not angry at the vets for not detecting it soon enough? No. The disease is not easily detectable, and even when a vet diagnosed it, it's not a "Yes, this is it" kind of thing, but more of a "We have ruled out everything, so this is the only thing left" kind of thing. And unless you did a blood test, an x-ray, a few visit to several different veterinary clinic, chances are, you won't know them too.

Isn't it a waste of money to go to several vets to get their opinion just to have your cat died in the end? No. Because now I know that his death is inevitable, and that I have tried almost everything, and ensure everything before deciding on what to do with his life.

The only thing that I regretted is that I had plans with Mugabe for my new book. I wanted to promote the new novel with him being front and centre. He will be on the free gifts that will come with the book. But he left before it even get to be realised.